


a merry little christmas

by outpastthemoat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 08:00:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13736589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outpastthemoat/pseuds/outpastthemoat
Summary: a holiday fic i forgot to post!





	a merry little christmas

The Impala's the only car on the road for miles, every motel they've passed for the last thirty-six miles has NO VACANCY lighting up the night like Chistmas lights, and Dean's stopped at one, two nicer hotels now, left Sam and Cas in the car and gone into the lobby to ask for two doubles, a double, a single, anything.  Just a room with four walls and a roof and a shower with hot water.  Just a place for them to rest.  A place for Sam to get some sleep, a place where they can patch Cas up and wash off graveyard dirt and let the bloodstains on their shirts soak in the bathroom sink.  But every time he gets back in the car and turns the engine over and she stalls a bit, the way she does in colder weather, and he looks at Sam, sleeping all folded up and crooked in the passenger seat, and Cas, lying down in the back seat with his right arm nested in their coats.  Dean thinks his arm's broken, maybe, he thinks Sam thinks so too, but every emergency room will be packed tonight and there's no urgent care open Christmas eve, and when Cas had asked through clenched teeth how bad it was, Dean had looked him in the eye and said, You're fine. 

He had watched Cas close his eyes and let his head loll back and tried not to let his worry show.

Round here, nothing's open on Christmas eve. Not McDonald's or Chick-fil-a's or Wendy's.  There's a Waffle House, but he can't drag Cas in there.  Last year, he remembers thinking with relief, that was it.  It's over.  All the bad stuff, just gone, because Cas is here with him, finally, safe and sound and not leaving, and he and Sam are easy together in a way they haven't been for years, and the world has been keeping its problems to itself for once.  Nothing to do but twiddle their thumbs and be happy.  He had thought they were finally free to be happy.  He wasn't going to spend any more Chistmasses wondering if Cas was dead or alive, no more Christmasses with the world going to hell and him having to fix it.  But now it's another Christmas and he's still got problems.  Cas is pale and silent in the backseat and this whole mess is his damn fault and no one's getting dinner or sleeping in a bed tonight tonight. 

He's still got problems.  Just different ones.  

He hits a pothole and Cas moans from the backseat and that's it, Dean's turning around.

They arrive at the emergency room at eleven thirty on Christmas eve.  By the time they leave, it’s almost seven on Christmas day.  Cas has a cast on his arm, Sam has candy bars and bags of peanuts in his pocket: they've been running off Three Musketeers and Paydays and trail mix and Diet Cokes all night, and looks like that's what they'll be living off today too: he doesn't see a single lit-up store.  There are no other cars on the road.  He helps Cas lie down in the backseat and watches Sam curl his legs up tight under the dash of the passenger seat and he puts the key in the ignition and the Impala stalls a bit, and Dean holds his breath, come on, for christ's sake, it's Christmas - and the engine revs up, thank god.  They only have a quarter tank of gas, maybe they'll find a room somewhere by then.  The only thing that's even a little like Christmas is the pine tree-shaped air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror.   

Sam's asleep again by the time he turns on the interstate.  

Dean cuts off the radio and whispers to him, to Cas, knocked out on oxycodine and wrapped in his own coat and an old one of Dean's, with engine grease stains running up the sleeves.  Dean makes promises he doesn't know if he can keep.  He says Next year there'll be a room somewhere, and it will be warm and dry, and we'll all have beds with clean white sheets.  Next year there'll be something good to eat, turkey and ham and cranberry sauce, and it won't even come from a Hungry Man microwave dinner, Sam.  Next year I'll get you presents, I swear to god, Cas.  Next year there'll be trees and string of lights and fucking tinsel, even if I have to sell my soul again to make it happen. 

Dean swears up and down he's gonna make it happen.  They'll do it right.  There's gonna be a next year, and a year after that, and another year after that.  So it's all right after all that they've missed Christmas this year, because they have all the time in the world.  There'll be another chance next year to make it right, he whispers to Cas.  We haven't got much right now, he says, but we've got time.  We've got the rest of our lives.  That makes this the best Christmas ever.  

**Author's Note:**

> someday soon, we all will be together  
> if the fates allow  
> until then, we'll have to muddle through somehow
> 
> so have yourself a merry little christmas now


End file.
